


right where we belong

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [89]
Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February Celebrates Black Women, Femslash February Trope Bingo, Praise Kink, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9616835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Tulip O'Hare possesses a long, long list of talents and skills (some more illicit than others), but if there’s one thing she’sperfectat, it’s slotting into Emily’s life like she was meant to be there from day one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally meant to be written for Femslash Revolution's Summer Scorcher event but... that didn't happen. instead, I'm using it for the 'domesticity' square on my 2017 Femslash Trope Bingo card and for the 'Femslash February Celebrates Black Women' event!
> 
> unbetaed by anyone but me, so let me know if you catch any mistakes!

If there's one thing that Tulip O'Hare is good at, it's making amazing microwave popcorn. 

Of course, that's far from her only talent; in the months that have passed since Tulip whirled into Emily's life with all the grace and fury of a tornado, she's demonstrated that she's in possession of a long, _long_ list of impressive skills. There are some that Emily thinks she'd rather not know about; like how Tulip can drive 110 while simultaneously thumbing away on her cellphone, how she can snap a man's wrist clean through his skin with one swift movement, how she can nurture a vampire back to health with nary a grimace in sight, even when her hands are soaked in animal blood. 

Emily knows all of those skills are part of what makes Tulip... well, what makes her _Tulip_ , but still. She thinks she would have been happy remaining willfully oblivious of those particular skills.

Thankfully, Tulip also possesses a number of other talents that aren't so illicit. She's surprisingly patient and tolerant with the kids, although Emily doesn't think she'll _ever_ forgive Tulip for accidentally teaching them to curse when they stub their toe on the corner of the couch. She always manages to rustle up supplies for the church before they actually run out, and she's more than capable of picking Emily up and carrying her to bed. 

(Emily is sure that looks rather ridiculous, since she's almost four inches taller than Tulip and has at least fifteen pounds on her, but she's always been too distracted to look in any of the mirrors they pass.)

She can mix drinks in only a few seconds, use her sharp tongue to tell off Jesse (or the sheriff, or Cassidy, or anyone else, for that matter) without flinching, and then use that same tongue hours later to make Emily's breath catch and toes curl.

But while all of those skills are important and valuable, after a long day of running errands for the church followed by a six hour shift at the diner, Emily values the popcorn the most.

They’re on their second bowl of the night, and Emily’s fingers are greasy with butter; the real stuff, not the cheap junk that comes in a plastic yellow tub, or the almost orange gunk they offer at the movies. They’re both curled up on the couch, backs resting against opposite armrests, legs entangled in the middle, the bucket resting on the dip between their knees. Tulip’s bare toes are curled against Emily’s hip, resting just underneath the hem of her orange work polo. Tulip’s still wearing the same thing she had when she blearily stumbled into Emily’s kitchen at seven o’clock in the morning; a black crop top with fringing hanging down, a baggy, ripped pair of jeans that used to be Emily’s, and a soft cloth headband to keep her dark curls pushed off her face. 

There’s a black and white detective movie playing on the television, casting the room in unsteady flickering light. The volume is down low, but closed captions roll at the bottom of the screen. The movie is reaching its ending and amazingly, not one of the kids has interrupted them by asking for a glass of water or another blanket or for their sibling to stop snoring. 

“You didn’t drug my kids, did you?” Emily asks teasingly during the next commercial break, absently licking a drop of butter off her finger. 

“Doped them right up,” Tulip replies, grabbing a single piece of popcorn, tilting her head back, and tossing it straight into her mouth. “Nah, just read them that story they all like. Added some details of my own. They were out in five minutes.” 

“They never do that for me,” Emily says, more than a little envious, as she adds _master storyteller_ to her internal list of Tulip’s many skills.

“Maybe you ain’t doin’ the voices right.” Tulip grins at her as she slides her foot a little higher up Emily’s shirt, poking her lowest rib.

“Maybe my voices are too good for them to sleep through,” Emily retorts, a grin of her own spreading across her face. She’s still getting used to this, the easy back and forth, the teasing that never grows mean, never has some kind of hidden edge to it. It’d never been like that with her husband; he’d been a serious, stoic man, strong and rigid as a pillar of rock. He almost never laughed, only smiled when she welcomed him home.

But he’d been a good man, and she’d loved him, truly. It’d just been a different kind of love than what she has with Tulip, no better or worse. 

“Whatever you say,” Tulip drawls, as the film comes back on. Emily dips her hand into the popcorn bowl and comes back with only a few kernels that are slippery with butter. She drops them back into the bowl and brings her fingers to her mouth, licking off some of the residual taste. 

(She peeks behind herself first, at the hallway leading down to the kid’s rooms, just to make sure there’s no one standing there, waiting to call her out on her bad habits.)

“We out again?” Tulip asks, taking the bowl and setting it on the already cluttered coffee table. 

“Yeah, but I'm fine. Two bowls is enough for one night.” Her fingers are no longer covered in butter, but they still feel gross, so she reluctantly untangles her legs from Tulip’s. “Lemme know if I miss anything important. I need to wash my hands.” 

“Bet he did it,” Tulip responds, pointing to the main character, a world weary detective with a jet black suit and a constant stream of cigarette smoke curling over his shoulder. “It’s always the fucking cops.” 

“You’re probably right,” Emily laughs, craning over the back of the couch to quickly press her lips against Tulip’s. When she pulls back, her lips are tingling slightly, and they continue to do so all the way to the bathroom. 

She takes her time in the bathroom, scrubbing soap between her fingers and under her nails, until her hands ache from the hot water pouring over them. She towels them thoroughly and, after glancing at the overflowing hamper in the corner of the room, decides to add her work shirt and thick khakis to the top of the pile, swapping them out for a faded t-shirt and equally faded pink pajama pants. It’s far from a sexy outfit, but she’s long since given up on going out of her way to impress Tulip. 

(The first few times had just ended in embarrassment, after which Tulip straight out told her there was no need to go out of her way. She was “more than perfect” just the way she was, without lace or frills or attempting something she’d read about in a magazine. 

Emily thought that might have been one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to her.)

As she pads back into the hallway, she takes a moment to linger outside the kid’s rooms and listen. There’s quiet music playing from the boy’s room, presumably from their new iPad (which Tulip had showed up with one day) but other than that, not a single sound. 

“They still out?” Tulip asks once Emily comes back into the living room. The television has switched to another movie, color this time, a Western if the sand swept scene is anything to go by. Tulip’s no longer sprawled out; she’s sitting up, back against the cushions, arms stretched along the back of the sofa. 

“Like lights,” Emily says, sinking back into the couch. “You sure you didn’t drug them?” 

“Not on purpose,” Tulip says with a lazy shrug. “Maybe they got in my trunk when I wasn’t looking.” Emily rolls her eyes, but before she can do more than drop her mouth open to speak, there’s a flurry of movement as Tulip rolls up and onto her lap, knees tucked into the cushions on either side of Emily’s waist. The flickering light of the television coronas around her head like the world’s most unsteady halo, and Emily has to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. She settles for dropping her hands to Tulip’s hips, warm and bare and soft above the frayed waistline of her jeans. 

“Were you planning this?” she asks, biting her lip as Tulip slides her fingers over the crown of her head to where her hair is still pulled into a tight ponytail. 

“Not exactly,” Tulip replies. “Just saw an opportunity.” Her fingers brush over the elastic and she raises an eyebrow, waiting for permission. Emily nods, carefully staying still as Tulip works the tight elastic out. She sighs with relief as her hair drops loose around her shoulders, Tulip’s combing fingers working it of the prison it’s been in all day. 

“Better?” she asks, nails gently scraping down Emily’s neck. Emily nods, curling her thumbs to brush along Tulip’s waist. Her jeans have slid down low enough for the elastic of her underwear to be visible, poking out of the top, a dark stripe of black tattooed against her brown skin. She idly thumbs at it as Tulip hunches over and presses a hard kiss against her forehead. 

“You’re beautiful,” she mumbles, curling one hand around the back of Emily’s neck as her mouth trails down her cheek, which immediately flushes with warmth. It’s one tiny remark, but the way Tulip says it, almost reverent, like she’s at prayer, makes Emily feel like she could spontaneously combust and be completely content with it.

She knows that they should move to the bedroom; it may be closer to the her children’s rooms, but at least there would be a locked door to shield them if anyone got up for a glass of water or to use the bathroom. Here, all it would take is a few steps down the hallway to step into the living room, and while the couch would block out _something_ , Emily isn’t sure if it would be enough. 

But it’s been over two hours, and none of the kids have come out.

It’s a risk, but she thinks that it's one worth taking. 

She cranes up and meets Tulip halfway, lips curling around each other automatically, slotting together like a record and a needle. Tulip’s hand tightens on the back of her neck, and her tongue presses forward, scraping along Emily’s bottom lip and coaxing out a quiet sigh that Emily still barely recognizes as herself, even after all this time. A gunshot rings out from the television screen, and Tulip abruptly pulls away. 

“Don’t think we need that right now,” she says, twisting at the hips and arching backwards until her hand snags the remote (and knocks the empty bowl of popcorn over in the process). She thumbs at the mute button and plunges the room into near silence, aside from the sound of shifting fabric as Emily moves and the very faint strains of music coming from down the hallway. When Tulip moves back, she idly plucks at the thin straps of her crop top. 

“Want this off?” she asks. Emily muses for a few moments, thumbs smoothing over the thin skin stretched over Tulip’s hipbones. Having Tulip’s shirt off would make things considerably easier, but it would also make it significantly harder to explain if one of the kids happens to wander out of their room. 

“Maybe not today,” she sighs reluctantly, twirling one finger around a hanging piece of fringe brushing against Tulip’s navel. Tulip just shrugs. 

“Alright. I can work with that,” she says before leaning back down and returning to Emily’s lips hard enough to push her head back against the couch. 

They don’t remain sitting up for long. While the light from the silent television flickers and spasms, they shift and twist until Emily is on her back, half-slumped against the armrest, her loose hair mussed around her shoulders, too-big t-shirt bunched around her ribs. When Tulip situates herself between Emily’s legs, her cloth headband slips down her forehead and over her eyes like a makeshift blindfold and, with a muttered curse, she tears it off and tosses it over the back of the couch, into the darkness of the living room. 

“You know, we’re never going to find that again,” Emily says, tucking her knees tight around Tulip’s hips. 

“Doesn't bother me,” Tulip says. “There’s plenty more at the dollar store where that came from.” 

Emily is fairly certain that the subtext in that statement is that there’s plenty more waiting to be _stolen_ , and she doesn't exactly condone that, but she has more important things to focus on at the moment, like how Tulip’s lips are slipping over her neck and flitting up to her jaw. Everywhere she moves, she leaves behind flushed skin, and Emily feels like she’s slowly melting from the inside out. 

And that’s before Tulip speaks again. 

“You’re the best thing about this town,” she says quietly, her warm breath brushing over the base of Emily’s neck, around the stretched out collar of her shirt. “The only thing worth sticking around for.” Part of Emily thinks that she should stick up for Annville, say that it has _some_ redeeming features, but she knows that Tulip won’t listen to her. 

(And, frankly, she’s not sure that she _could_ think of any real redeeming qualities, not unless she set a few hours aside just for thinking).

Instead, she gasps softly and wraps her hand around Tulip’s shoulder, cheeks flushing like coals. Tulip’s teeth scrape gently against her collarbone before she settles back on her knees. Shadows flicker across her sharp cheekbones and jaw. 

“Want me to keep going?” she asks, hands settling on the drawstring waist of Emily’s pajama pants. 

“Yes,” Emily responds with a swift nod. “Please.” Tulip’s teeth press into her bottom lip and her head quickly turns to glance down the hallway towards the kid’s rooms. She only looks for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity, and Emily finds herself squeezing her thighs together for relief from the warm heat pooling between her legs. 

“You gonna be able to stay quiet for me?’ Tulip asks with a raised eyebrow, tugging Emily’s pajamas down an inch. Emily nods again. Normally, Tulip likes to hear her, whispers in Emily’s ear or against her heated skin that she can be louder, but this definitely isn't the time for that. 

“I’ll be quiet,” she whispers. The room plunges into darkness for a moment as the movie fades into a commercial, and when the light floods back, Tulip is smiling at her, dark eyes sparkling. 

“Good girl,” she murmurs, hooking her fingers and finally, blessedly, tugging down Emily’s pants and underwear in one swoop. 

Emily has to bite back a relieved whimper.

Tulip only pauses long enough to grab a blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over her back before she curls over her knees and buries her face between Emily’s thighs. Emily’s pants and underwear are still wrapped around her ankles, which means she can’t open her legs any wider, and a frustrated groan leaves her mouth unbidden. 

“Hey,” Tulip says, tone soft, as she pokes her head out from underneath the blanket. “You alright? We can move.”

“No,” Emily says, yanking one foot out of her pajamas, which gives her at least some freedom. “I’m okay. Please keep going.”

“You’ve got it, darlin'.”

The next time a noise slips from Emily’s lips, it’s the furthest thing from frustrated. 

It takes her some time to catch her breath afterwards. As her chest rises and falls and spots of color flash beneath her closed eyelids, Tulip presses kisses along the curves of her trembling thighs and up to her stomach. 

“You’re amazing,” Emily gasps, pulling in a deep breath of air that still smells like popcorn. She feels Tulip’s mouth twitch against her stomach as she continues moving upward, blanket falling away from her head and down her back. 

“Hon, you’re the amazin' one,” Tulip says, pressing one last kiss just below the curve of Emily’s breast before she sits up on her knees. Her lips part to say something, but before a word can come out, a tiny, exhausted voice comes drifting from down the hallway. 

“Mommy? Can I have some water, please?” 

Emily sighs and reluctantly opens her eyes. She was hoping she’d get a chance to return the favor to Tulip before they were interrupted, but she’s not surprised that her luck didn’t turn that way. But, as she starts to sit up, Tulip stops her by gently pressing her hand to Emily’s chest. 

“You stay here,” she says, leaning down and pressing her mouth against Emily’s briefly. “I’ll get her some water.” With that, she slides off the couch and disappears out of Emily’s sight, footsteps soft on the worn carpet leading down the hallway. 

“Your mama’s asleep, honey. Do you want me to get you some water?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“Alright. Let's go together.” Emily takes that as a sign to pull her pants back up, and she’s just barely gotten herself fully clothed and hidden under the blanket when Tulip walks by, effortlessly carrying Alice on her hip like she’s been doing it since Alice was born. Tulip briefly catches her eye and smiles before continuing on her way, asking Alice quietly if she wants anything else. Emily slumps back against the couch and sighs gratefully. 

Tulip O’Hare may be good at making a great bowl of microwave popcorn, but if there’s one thing she’s _perfect_ at, it’s slotting into Emily’s life like she was meant to be there from day one.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
